# Random writings



## Zuu (Dec 9, 2009)

I wasn't sure whether or not I should stick this here or in the Writing forum but ... basically, in order to improve my writing, I'm trying to write like, a page or two every day with different plots + characters just to exercise my abilities a bit I guess. So I'm just going to use this topic to post the stuff I write. I'm ultimately looking for constructive criticism since I'm trying to improve so don't hold back.

*12/8/09*
It began as only silence, a silence so particularly encompassing and absolute that Isaac had forgotten what it had been like to hear his own voice and the wind singing in his ears; when he caught the first few whispers of that flute off in the mists, it was the most beautiful thing he could ever have hoped to experience in a thousand lifetimes. He could have watched the universe wither and fade away and be there to witness the birthing of a new world, and still he would not have found anything so wonderful as that unknown flautist's melodies.

Isaac began to stumble wildly towards the source of the rapturous music, the pale mist engulfing and blinding him. Shapes were forming and dissolving all around him in the cloud, humanoid and bestial, earthly and extraterrestrial, never quite becoming definite but definitely existing in that brief moment of time before Isaac reached the mouth of the glorious symphonies pouring out into the white.

He broke out into a clearing where the mist dared not to enter. In the middle of the grassy clearing stood a young man with a deep blue cloth tunic on his breast, with a dark skirt concealing his waist down, brushing lightly against his ankles. Below these ankles were cloth-draped sandals that protected his feet, delicate in appearance, while a large hood darkened a face that Isaac instantaneously decided to likely be too wonderful for any mortal witness. His arms were raised and cradling a bone flute, gently bobbing up and down with the beat of the songs he played. 

Isaac weakly took a few uncertain steps toward this figure before realising he had been with the mysterious flautist the entire time - indeed, Isaac felt as if he had been with the flautist his entire life. Isaac dropped to his knees as the hooded figure began to turn, feeling all that had remained of his strength being replaced with sheer and completely innocent awe. The hooded figure slowly removed his instrument from his lips, resting his arms at his sides, and, with purple eyes, gazed into Isaac's own for what seemed to be multiple eternities. With a soft voice that seemed to come from every direction, the flautist began to speak. 

"You are wondering who I am," said the flautist, with a smile that radiated pure adoration and love. "The Greeks gave unto me the name Thanatos. To the Germanic peoples I was an aspect of Grimnir. I am Michael and I am Samael. You may know me as Death."

(Author's notes: I like this one. In fact I really want to make a story out of this but I have no idea how to. I have more ideas to add onto it but without a plot it'd be silly, so.)


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## Tailsy (Dec 9, 2009)

It goes in the main Writing forum.


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## Ruby (Dec 12, 2009)

Wow - very nineteenth-century, which is interesting.    But you ought to use fewer adjectives.  One well-picked word is better than two or three extravagant ones.   Which authors influenced your style of writing here?


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## Zuu (Dec 12, 2009)

Hmm... well, I've read quite a bit of Lovecraft - that's about as aged as my reading gets. I haven't read much literature that isn't 20th century. My collection is quite limited, I'm afraid. 

So I guess Lovecraft's dry extravagance influenced me a bit. Mostly I just let my words flow (which would account for the wordiness) and try to pick ... sophisticated words, I guess, if you can call my diction elevated. Oh and I like the word "flautist" so. 

I do need to write more, but I've been caught up in reviews and the ACT. :X


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## Ruby (Dec 12, 2009)

I compared your writing with some Lovecraft, and the intonation is similar.  Prose has changed immeasurably since he died, in 1937, but an old-fashion style such as yours might charm readers who are looking for something out of the ordinary.


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## Sandstone-Shadow (Dec 13, 2009)

It is an interesting writing style; definitely not what I read everyday, and it's nice to see a bit of a change. I would enjoy seeing this continued.



> I have more ideas to add onto it but without a plot it'd be silly, so.


Write them anyway. =) Who knows, they might spark an idea for a plot. That's how a lot of my stories begin.


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## Zuu (Dec 13, 2009)

Ruby said:


> I compared your writing with some Lovecraft, and the intonation is similar.  Prose has changed immeasurably since he died, in 1937, but an old-fashion style such as yours might charm readers who are looking for something out of the ordinary.


I certainly hope so. :O



			
				Sandstone-Shadow said:
			
		

> It is an interesting writing style; definitely not what I read everyday, and it's nice to see a bit of a change. I would enjoy seeing this continued.


And hopefully you will. I am pretty tired right now but I might end up writing something.


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## Zuu (Dec 13, 2009)

*12/12/09* - _A continuation_
"You are wondering who I am," said the flautist, with a smile that radiated pure adoration and love. "The Greeks gave unto me the name Thanatos. To the Germanic peoples I was an aspect of Grimnir. I am Michael and I am Samael. You may know me as Death."

A multitude of questions swam on Isaac's tongue and yet not a one would allow itself to surface. His eyes were drawn instead towards an adolescent curled into a fetal position on the grass at the feet of Death. A beautiful mane of blond hair fanned out into the small of the boy's back, while there was little more than silk trousers to cover his milky white skin. It took little more than an inquisitive glance to spur Death into speech.

"That is my brother, Sleep. We are borne of the night, he and I, though it seems that now he has slipped into something much darker. This mist has encroached into our grove and now the dead do not respond to my playing," spake Death, ponderously examining the flute in his hands. 

"You're saying I'm dead?" No feeling of dread washed over him, no shiver surfed his spine. If it meant spending the rest of his existence with the angel before him, death was the best thing that could have ever befallen Isaac.

"Not quite. Likely you have experienced the odd connection one senses after waking up from a particularly vivid dream," started Death, spreading out his arms as if to embrace the grove that surrounded them. "Some of the lands and times you visit in your dreams are more real than others."

(okay I'm so tired I have no idea how to continue this. My fingers keep trying to turn this into a supernatural smut fic and I can't let that happen :B)
(plus I think my style slipped)


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## Ruby (Dec 15, 2009)

> (plus I think my style slipped)


"Spake" is too much, even for Death.


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## Zuu (Dec 15, 2009)

Aww. I love how it sounds, though you're probably right. hrrgh I'll probably write some more tonight, who knows, this thing is already dead.


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